


The Rite of Movement

by R M Sayan (justsomecynic)



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician), Original Work
Genre: (only from non-sympathetic/antagonistic characters), CW: slurs, CW: slurs against Roma and Sinti people, F/M, Fantasy, Happy Ending, Historical, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past F/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Burn, Song: Arsonist's Lullabye (Hozier), Song: Be (Hozier), Song: Cherry Wine (Hozier), Song: Foreigner's God (Hozier), Song: In The Woods Somewhere (Hozier), Song: It Will Come Back (Hozier), Song: Like Real People Do (Hozier), Song: Movement (Hozier), Song: NFWMB (Hozier), Song: No Plan (Hozier), Song: Shrike (Hozier), Song: Talk (Hozier), Song: To Making Noise (Sing) (Hozier), Song: Would That I (Hozier), Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomecynic/pseuds/R%20M%20Sayan
Summary: The Black Forest felt different this time around. Serafim remembered it vibrant, alive, not shrouded in gloom, and most of all, inhabited by a figure with full moon eyes. Something had changed in the forest, like something had changed in him.Historical fantasy. Not RPF. Tracklist in chapter list.





	1. In The Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> See chapter list for tracklist! Or you can listen to the playlist as you read -> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4QzplcCMSc5FYqmyDGEwaA?si=Tzxl2ia6R_a5Ep9GD0JUZA

_How many years I know I’ll bear I found something in the woods somewhere._

 

The Black Forest felt different this time around. Not bad, just… different. Serafim remembered it being more vibrant, more… alive. Not that it was dead. It was difficult to explain.

But his mother understood. She warned the clan, before entering the forest, that something had changed for the worse. And it hadn’t always been like that.

The town of Schwarzdorn laid snug inside a clearing, between the oaks and alders of the Black Forest. The square was charred black at the center, but the townsfolk didn’t seem to pay heed to it. The Sinti caravan crossed the square and crossed themselves and their children. Serafim kept a firm hold on Greta’s hand, and moved with the caravan to the edges of town.

It was between civilization and nature that Teodora and her fellow elders decided it was best for them to stay; at the brink of the clearing, where the leaves that fell from the closest oaks could still glide to their bonfires. This had been such since the unfortunate casualties that mingling too much with the urban man had brought. And though Serafim had a liking for the praises and tips from the satisfied public, how could he argue?

Greta had long since reached the age to help set up the camp, but he still found himself hovering over her. He chastised himself for it; she was old enough to prop up a tent without her father’s assistance, right? And she knew that. It only took a glance for him to get the message and help his aging mother instead.

“You spoil her too much,” Teodora said to him as he arrived to help her raise the roof of her tent. “At her age, I was already bearing your older brother.”

“And do you want her to go through childbirth the same way you did, mother?” he said with a soft smile, but his eyes were not with hers.

Teodora huffed and headed away, towards her nephew’s own part of the clan. Serafim laughed and, as usual, propped up his mother’s tent for her.

Mere seconds after he had tied the last knot, though, a group of men emerged from the forest. They carried lumber and axes, and saw the camp with indifferent surprise. What caused a vile expression to stir up in their faces, though, was the sight of Greta finishing up her tent.

They spoke among themselves in low voices, until one of them addressed her. “Not bad for a gypsy,” the one in front hollered, sporting an axe with a blade the size of Serafim’s head and a bycocket hat that covered the upper right side of his face. The others chuckled and resolved to move on, but the leader didn’t budge. “You here for work? The tavern is in dire need of new wenches, you know.”

Serafim’s face twitched, but fell into an easy smile. He strode up to the tent with the intention to defend Greta, but she didn’t even spare them a glance and walked away, further into the camp. The leader took a step forward, but Serafim spoke up. “How was the hunt, gentlemen? Good catch? I hear the oaks are particularly restless this time of the year, good job on catching one.”

The leader frowned at him with confusion. “It’s pine,” he said, and Serafim stifled a laugh. It would only get him in trouble if he voiced that they were too stupid to recognize a taunt.

Serafim nodded, as if appreciating their craftsmanship. Maybe it was better to just speak. “Pine makes great tables, and it burns nicely. Good smell.”

The leader shrugged. “It does. But it’s hard to find one that won’t curse us if we fell it.”

Serafim laughed, glad that they were at least friendly enough to joke. But then none of the lumberjacks laughed with him, so his smile waned away. “Curse you? How is that?”

The leader looked back at his fellows, in particular at a pair of blondes with similar scars on their arms. “Some of them are marked. The Müller brothers here were in charge of one of those a few years back. A bear showed up as soon as they began.”

Serafim raised his eyebrows. “Could’ve been a coincidence.”

“It’s what we thought at first,” the leader said. “Then I tried for a marked tree myself.” He raised his hat to reveal his right eye socket, empty. “Falcon.”

So there _was_ something wrong with the forest. “Who marks the cursed trees?”

“What you should ask is what marks the trees,” said the lumberjack at the back with dark brown hair, taking a couple of steps to the front as the leader put his hat back on its place. “And you of all people would know.”

Serafim blanked. There was no malice in his voice, just earnest belief. “I don’t understand.”

“What Zimmer means is,” the leader spoke up again, placing a firm hand on the brunette’s shoulder. “Be careful what you deal with. There is something in the forest, something that doesn’t want us there. Something evil.”

The last line was when Serafim huffed. Nature wasn’t inherently evil; not when uncorrupted.

The leader sensed his hostility and pointed at him with his axe. “You can dance with the devil all you want, gypsy, but you can never laugh at him without getting burned.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, gentlemen,” Serafim nodded, and did a little bow for good measure. City folk loved that. Sure enough, the leader scoffed and started on his way back to town, gesturing for the others to follow him. “I’m Serafim,” he called after them. “Didn’t quite catch your name, maybe we can do some business with that pine of yours, later.”

The men didn’t stop, but the leader did answer. “Hans Köhler. I doubt you can afford it, but you’re welcome to try.”

Serafim chuckled to himself as they walked out of earshot. He turned back to the camp and found Greta looking at him from the central bonfire, above tents and between carts. She really had her mother’s eyelashes, because he could swear he’d see them outline her eyes from miles away. He trotted over to the fire, still in embers.

“Don’t rile them up,” Greta told him as soon as he could hear her. Impassive, as always, but he knew how to detect concern in the tone of her voice.

Serafim smiled and kissed her atop the head. “I won’t. I promise.”

The camp was set already, food was on its way, and the families began to gather around the budding fire. Serafim caught the eyes of some of his cousins and their instruments. “How about a song?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm Robb, I'm writing this fic between uni work and my original /original/ writing, but I'm very excited for this to see the light! Hopefully updates come on weekends, but I might have to skip a couple of times, fair warning. I promise to keep you guys posted! Follow me on twitter for news and more queer writing! https://twitter.com/r_m_writes
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	2. Movement

_When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me;_  
_when you move, honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free._

 

Music caught the Forest Lord’s attention. There hadn’t been music in this part of the forest in… it seemed like yesterday, but at the same time, too long ago. Not this kind of music.

Townsfolk liked their music kept private, muffled by the city walls. Others, neither city dwellers nor farmers —perhaps wanderers was the word? Nomads, travelers… words seemed so frivolous now— they played whenever music called to them.

Last time wanderers came to his forest, last time this music had shaken his grounds, a young man— no, a child got lost briefly in its bowels. But the child wasn’t afraid. He marveled at his flowers, leaves, and trunks. Some of his creatures even approached him. And some were hungry, but the Forest Lord had come out of an alder tree to soothe them into docility.

And the child gaped at him with wonder, not a hint of fear. Not like the others when they saw a dark mossy figure creep between trees, even when his forest was bright and singing, naïve.

Now, the same kind of music riddled between the leaves. At least the music was a welcome constant in his long existence.

He emerged from a tree by their camp, near enough to see but far enough to be shrouded by the darkness that now fell on his forest. The wanderers were gathered around a fire, taking turns singing, playing, dancing. In pairs, in small groups, individually. Rehearsing, so it seemed. By the end of it, they all sang together. Only a few of them still danced, and only one of them was… breathtaking.

This dancer’s movement was the perfect balance between skill and passion. Too much skill and one becomes cold; too much passion and one becomes clumsy. Many of the dancers fell on one of two sides, but not this one. This one moved like gusts of wind through treetops, shaking thick branches like grass.

And there was something else about this dancer. A fire in his eyes and a spark in his leaps that ignited interest in the Forest Lord. In a surge of emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time, he let one of the early-blooming flowers drift down from its branches by the camp. The blossom landed at the dancer’s feet just as he finished with a flourish, and he saw it.

And as the wanderers cheered, the dancer turned and met his eyes right through the gloom.

Of course the Forest Lord melted back into the nearest tree, and the dancer glanced away.

But later that same night, when the wanderers had long since gone to sleep, the Forest Lord felt footsteps between his trees. He would recognize those footsteps anywhere.

Even though he could sense, he was reluctant to show himself. Too many had shied and ran away from him, and in any case, who was to say the dancer’s intentions were benevolent? He had learned the hard way that no matter how virtuous someone may seem, they could be rotten on the inside.

But then the footfalls took a rhythm too graceful for walking, too calm for running. The Forest Lord called an owl to a nearby branch and watched through its eyes.

He was dancing.

He didn’t seem to mind the twisting roots and low-hanging branches; he dodged them with ease and even incorporated them into his choreography. Just what did he hope to achieve? There was no music to practice to, no audience to please. At least… not that the dancer was aware of. The Forest Lord had come to think of the breeze as gentle harmonies, the hoots and crickets as charming little notes. But surely the dancer was too young to know that. Mortals generally were.

Perhaps unconsciously, another flower fell from the Forest Lord’s grip by the dancer’s feet. And as the dancer saw it, the Forest Lord saw a smile before his enthusiasm increased.

How wondrous it was to witness a performance so energetic, and yet so calculated. Suddenly filled with courage, the Forest Lord summoned a gust of wind to whip around leaves and flowers, following the dancer’s movements, as a token of his admiration.

But the dancer seemed to want more. Leaps were followed by more leaps, pirouettes, twirls, and yet the smile kept widening. The dancer’s enthusiasm bled into the Forest Lord’s domain, and he did things he normally would not. He brought more breeze, flowers, and finally, fireflies. Yet the dancer kept moving, coated in a thin layer of sweat that made his skin glisten, his smile becoming desperate… beckoning.

The Forest Lord then knew what he wanted.

He melted away from a nearby alder tree, but remained in the shadows. A moment of hesitation took hold of him, but then the dancer not only caught his look; he smiled and leapt towards him. So the Forest Lord complied.

He hadn’t danced in a long time, so he swayed and directed waves of fireflies around the dancer. And the dancer, far from shying away, followed suit. He took every moving gift and danced with them, whirled with them, flew with them. They moved in a circle, closer every time, and by the time the dancer skipped to a stop, breathless, they were face to face.

The dancer looked up at the Forest Lord in wonder, the same wonder with which the Forest Lord looked at him. And though the Forest Lord still expected him to run, the dancer smiled.


	3. To Making Noise (Sing)

_You don’t have to sing it nice, but honey, sing it strong;_  
_at best you’ll find a little remedy, at worst the world will sing along._

 

Serafim let out a breathy laugh when he finally saw him up close. A creature with skin of fertile soil, hair of hanging moss, and eyes of a full moon. A man. “It’s you,” he breathed.

The man made a face so subtle, it seemed he was getting used to expressions after a long slumber. And he looked confused.

Serafim raised a hand as if to meet the other’s for a waltz. “You’re the Alder Man.” The Alder Man, his mother had once said, was either an imaginary friend or a madman dressed in moss, from what Serafim had described after that moonlit adventure in the Black Forest. “You saved me from the wolves, you made them my friends.”

Even though the entirety of the man’s eyes were silver, Serafim could somehow tell when he looked up at him. The man then turned to his raised hand, and though he did so hesitantly, he met it with his own. The man’s fingers were longer and slightly thicker than his own, but had the same shape. They felt like freshly unearthed roots; rough and cool, but full of life.

Serafim saw their hands and took the liberty to entangle their fingers. The man took a small, sharp intake of breath, but otherwise did not react. Serafim took that as a positive sign. “What’s your name, then?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. His lips parted and cracked like dry dirt, but it didn’t seem to hurt him. His voice sounded like dragging a boulder on gravel. “I don’t remember.”

He seemed estranged at the sound of his own voice, but Serafim smiled in sympathy and squeezed his fingers ever so slightly. “That’s alright. I just don’t want to call you The Alder Man. It’s been over twenty years since I came up with that name.”

The man still had that conflicted expression. A moment so long passed, Serafim thought he’d go mute again. But then he replied. “Call me as you wish.”

Serafim lowered their hands and joined them with his other hand. “I’m Serafim. Can I call you just Alder?”

Slowly, the man nodded. “Has… it really been twenty years…?”

“You’ve changed, haven’t you?” Serafim murmured. To emphasize his point, he looked around them, to the forest shrouded in gloom outside of their firefly-lit bubble. “I’ve noticed. The forest— _You_ used to be more… lively.” Alder lowered his look and seemed to shrink into himself, and Serafim panicked. “No, no, I don’t mean that in a bad way!” He tightened their hands, and Alder leaned into the touch. “But… didn’t you like to sing?”

Alder looked up with a puzzled expression, but not because he was at a loss; instead, to Serafim it seemed that he hit right on target. “You heard?”

Serafim smiled. “It wasn’t your voice. Or, well, sort of. It was the voice of the forest. Are you the forest itself, or the ruler of the forest?”

Alder seemed to evaluate the question very carefully. “I’m not certain. Maybe both.”

“Then it was your voice. Some of your voices. The songbirds, the wind through the treetops, the footsteps of your creatures…” Serafim glanced around Alder’s domain once more, and fixed his look in the direction opposite to his camp, into the depths of the forest. “The best you can do when things change is… keep singing.”

He dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged, but his hands slid away from Alder’s at a much softer pace. When he looked up with an expectant tilt of his head, Alder looked lost. “My voice isn’t… I haven’t used it this much in…”

Serafim leaned back until he was laying down with his head on his arms. “Then use another voice.” He looked up at a tree where the owl had perched while he had been dancing. Then again at Alder, and gestured towards the bird with a jerk of his chin. “Try! I think you’ll like it.”

Alder turned his head towards the bird, and his chest puffed with a slow, deep breath. As he let it out, the owl hooted.

It was a small, brief sound, but it was soothing and made Serafim smile. “How does it feel?”

Alder remained as still as the tree he came out of, but his chest still gently heaved with life. “I’m not sure.”

“Try some more?”

Alder nodded and the owl hooted again; twice. He paused, and then hooted with different, ululating notes. Music to Serafim’s ears. Still on the ground, he smiled and nodded rhythmically, though there was no rhythm to keep. And then, to his delight, Alder’s stiff lips stretched into a nostalgic smile.

The chirping of crickets sprung up from Serafim’s right, and a couple of owls joined the one on the branch. The fireflies flickered in the air around them, every bug to their own unique rhythm. A gentle breeze swayed the treetops and gave a nice harmony to the individual melodies.

Looking satisfied, Alder folded his creaking knees and sat on the ground by Serafim, who smiled and turned his head towards his new—or old—friend. “Don’t you feel better?”

Alder hummed in thought before answering. “I’m starting to.”

He looked like he was trying his best to keep that smile on his face. Serafim wondered what could possibly affect such a being to this extent, but he didn’t think an intrusion would be welcome. He wouldn’t want an intrusion into his own past, after all. But, as a smudge of a tar-like fluid on a nearby tree caught his eye, he figured he could ask. “Why do you mark some trees?”

Alder frowned, but his smile didn’t fully vanish; the crease of his brow became like a crack in dried mud. “I want them to live longer. They’re too young to be felled.”

“But you didn’t use to mark them, no?”

“I was lenient. I was naïve. I was…”

As Alder trailed off, they sank into silence. Serafim thought it had a sort of soothing quality, but then he realized silence not only governed them, but the Alder’s domain as well.

He sat up and looked around them. The owls were still perched on their branch, but huddled into themselves. The fireflies too; still present, but extinguished. There was no wind rustling the treetops, no crickets to accompany the sound.

Serafim turned back to Alder with concern and saw his eyes squeezed shut in a grimace of pain, that gentle smile no more than a memory now. “It’s her.”


	4. It Will Come Back

_You don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need._

 

Something— Some _one_ was coming, and Serafim didn’t like the effect it was having on Alder. He slid his hands up his arms and to his shoulders, trying to get Alder to open his eyes. “Hey. Look at me, you’re alright. You are! Nobody’s coming for you, this is your domain, you’re safe, you’re…”

But the more Serafim tried to soothe him, the more he realized he didn’t know what he was saying. And when movement—unnatural, twisting movement—caught his eye by the tree behind Alder, the marked tree… that was when he realized how wrong he was.

At first, it was just a flower. A lily of white and violet hues bloomed at the base of the young cedar, and it would’ve been normal if it wasn’t for the speed of it. Then, more of them joined. The stems grew from nothing, and flowers budded and bloomed to join their elder. But the leaves and stems didn’t stop. Together like a mass of growing, writhing tentacles, the lilies twisted around the trunk of the young tree until no bark saw the light and their own green suffocated it. And the mass kept bloating.

From the heaving knots emerged a hand.

Nimble violet fingers reached from within and pushed away the knots, giving way to another hand. They opened a gap, from which a body emerged; a slender body white as chalk, dressed in what seemed like robes weaved from fine stems, and hair smooth and brushing the ground. Her legs tiptoed onto the dirt, not with care but with grace, and the gap closed behind her, leaving the drowning cedar to its own means. Her limbs and hair faded into the violet hues of her initial flower, and her eyes were of polished obsidian.

The smile she gave when she saw Serafim was not a kind one.

Serafim’s grip on Alder’s shoulders tightened minimally; he wanted to clutch him tight, but not to alarm him. Even though the woman behind Alder was in a way more human in appearance, for some reason Serafim perceived from her a certain monstrosity.

She stepped forward, and around every footfall bloomed a miniature version of the twisting stems she emerged from. Serafim tried shaking Alder very slightly, unsure if he was aware of the creature that approached them. Fear took hold of his gut, but he didn’t want to leave Alder alone.

The woman arrived behind Alder and her hands crawled onto his shoulders, closer to his neck than Serafim’s hands. From her fingers, stems reached out and around Alder, enveloping him like they did the young cedar. Around his shoulders, his chest, his neck. Serafim fought off the urge to run away and leave Alder to his own means in favor of nudging his face with his forehead. He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. “Hey, we have to go. Come on, get up. Look up.”

But Alder didn’t move. The stems constricted his chest, his throat, and while Serafim understood that Alder didn’t exactly need to breathe, it couldn’t have been good. And then they reached Serafim’s hands.

The moment the leathery vines touched his skin, he understood. There was a feeling of pride, of possessiveness, of primal need coming from the woman. He looked up at her soulless eyes and saw the smile twist further on her cheeks, at the same time that the flowers took hold of his hands. The message didn’t change, but the intensity of it did. With every inch of vines curling around his hands, his wrists, his forearms, he felt that second-hand desire a little bit stronger, a little more dangerous.

It wasn’t until he was elbow-deep in writhing plants that Alder looked up, brow creased in guilt, grey eyes filled with sorrow, and whispered a single word. “Go.”

Serafim didn’t want to leave, but some of Alder’s own feelings seeped through their contact. It was then that he understood that while he was mortal, vulnerable to this woman’s whims, Alder was not. At least, not as much. Serafim nodded and, in a swift pull, ripped his arms away from the woman’s grip. “I’ll come back for you,” he promised Alder.

Her smile didn’t falter, but it trembled with laughter. As he hesitated in taking a step back, green roots shot across the ground towards him. He jumped back from them, but another cluster tried to reach him. He looked back at Alder, who was nearly overtaken by the woman’s vines. “I will!” he declared, but he was forced to retreat.

As he ran, he didn’t see or hear the woman lean down and whisper in Alder’s ear, in a language he wouldn’t understand, with a cruel smile. “Did you miss me, my Lord?”


	5. Talk

_I'd be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love;_   
_I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of._

 

The chokehold was familiar. It couldn’t possibly kill the Forest Lord, nor was it strong enough that he couldn’t break free from it if he tried. But he didn’t try. How could he, when it was those roots and those hands that once held him with love?

“My Queen,” he muttered, in the language that only the two of them understood, the language of the trees and the woodland creatures.

The Fae Queen paced around him and crouched in front of him, arms crossed over her knees and a cruelly playful smile on her soft features, as if she wasn’t holding his entirety in a vice grip. She glanced at the tree behind him, now suffocated and dying, but with a smidge of tar still visible under its bindings. “You’ve been busy.”

The Forest Lord kept his gaze downcast. “I see more clearly now.”

“What is it that you see, then?” The Fae Queen twirled some of his moss-hair with her slim fingers. “Aren’t they annoying? Little pests, thinking they can do anything they want with our domain.”

“They’re learning,” he countered, surprising even himself.

The Fae Queen reeled at his defiance, smile vanishing. A shiver crawled up his spine. “No, they’re not.” She stood and paced the forest around him without letting him go. “Have you heard the way they talk about us?”

The Forest Lord quirked his head in her general direction; at least, as much as the vines would allow him. “I’ve heard Serafim.”

She laughed, but her face returned to its cold expression in half a moment. “Is that the dancer’s name? Cute.” She turned towards him again. “But they all talk about us with disgust, and call us evil. _Evil_ , my Lord!”

“Serafim wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he would. Just wait until he finds out what you are. What you _were,_ before I found you.”

The Forest Lord hesitated. “Mortal?”

“Mortal. And how are you still among the living?”

“You—”

“ _Black magic_ , my Lord. That’s what they call it. Witchcraft, devil worship, you name it.” She paused. “Your side of our domain isn’t the only one with settlements. I hear things too. He’ll fear you, like all humans do.”

The Forest Lord fell silent. His constraints seemed harsher, but he hadn’t felt them tighten. “What do you want from me?”

The Fae Queen eased back into a smile. “I want us to unite.”

“No.” He clenched his jaw. “No, not after what you did to me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, just let it go. Besides, that’s not what I mean.” She paused. “We need that power to do what we must.”

That sounded familiar to him in the worst of ways. “And what must we do?”

“Take back our domain.” She let the statement hang in the air, and then her cheeks twitched like her smile wanted to widen but physically could not. “And more.”

“What more is there?”

“You can’t limit yourself to our domain. There are more like us, all over this realm, each with their own domain. And they are all _weak_.” She bent in front of him and held his chin between her fingers. “Like you. But you don’t have to be.”

He was used to that last statement, in some way, but there was an inflection to her voice that made it different this time. “What is it you propose, my Queen?”

“We take over.” Had her eyes been anything but void, he may have seen a glint of madness. “Our domain is beautiful, virtually perfect. Join me once more, and we can make it grow. The others can join us or perish, and the humans,” she paused. “They can suffocate.”

“You sound like what they call us.”

“Evil? Please. Nothing is good or evil by nature, not until we deem it so.” She slung her arm around her shoulders, pressing flush against his side. “Don’t you want to feel that power again? The power we shared.” She brought her lips closer to his ear. “The love we shared.”


	6. Cherry Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up it's a longboi (at least for my standards)
> 
> i feel like flashback chapters are becoming My Brand. also i'm posting today because i sincerely doubt i'll be awake at midnight i'm so fucking exhausted hoo

_Her eyes and words are so icy, oh but she burns like rum on a fire._

 

He would be lying if he said the first thing he remembered was pain, but it was close. Of his brief mortal existence he could recall feelings, sensations, not solid moments. He remembered, for example, the feeling of wonder as he travelled, the yearning for adventure as he heard tales of foreign lands. And he remembered pain.

He didn’t remember much other than it being the work of other humans. But he had been prone on the fertile forest floor for too long, feeling his last breaths take their sweet time to crawl out of his broken lungs, flooding with his own blood.

He remembered seeing her face peek at him from a treetop. Her white and violet self could have passed as a clutter of high-rising flowers, if it wasn’t for the amount of time he’d been looking. He’d blinked, and she had been crouched over him. A pale violet hand had cupped his cheek, gentle like a flower petal but warmer. Through the hand, he had felt a deep concern, empathy… benevolence.

He had clung to that. His sorrow had not been for death; it had been for reaching an end before witnessing the wonders of this world himself. And she had felt that in him too.

She had stood up over him and extended her hand. He hadn’t understood. She had nodded once, urging him on, and he’d put whatever was left of his strength into lifting his hand, and… vines had crawled up from the ground to help his arm up.

He’d grabbed her hand, and his hand hadn’t looked like his own. There were no bruises or blood anymore, just moss, earth, and bark. He’d felt vines and roots crawl under his back and help him stand up, the same way they helped his arm. As he stood, he’d felt every tear of flesh come together again, every cracked bone snap back into place, but the pain he had left behind.

“Who are you?” he had said, but the words that had come out of his mouth weren’t in any language he’d ever heard.

“Your other half,” she had replied in the same unknown language.

From the way she’d said it, he’d known her intention wasn’t romantic or sexual. Not yet, at least. Somehow, through their connected hands, he’d known she meant she had divided herself to give him this new life.

“Thank you,” he had said, for lack of a better thing to say. He’d understood he could never go back to his own or leave their domain, their forest. But with the new life flowing through his veins—veins that were not just his own anymore, but of the trees, the flowers, the animals—he couldn’t complain. He had wanted to see the wonders of the world, but he had never hoped to experience them like this. “Will you teach me?”

She smiled, one of many smiles he would grow to love and then despise. “Come!” Her hand tightened around his as she pulled him into a tree, into the purest state of their realm.

The Fae Queen had taught him all she knew, but he was a natural learner. Soon he was drifting in and out of trees and earth, keeping peace between his creatures, ruling and sharing their domain. She taught him the lost tongues of their creatures, the extent and boundaries of their control, the joys and woes of the circle of life… and she taught him love again.

Even when his mortal life was beginning to slip his mind, he still could recognize love when he saw it and when he felt it. And with their unity and the bond they shared, it was hard to hide it from each other. They fell into an easy love together without a hitch, and while mortality was far behind them, they could still enjoy the pleasures that physicality could give them.

He became used to her ever-changing nature. When he met her she was sweet. Throughout the centuries, she was many things. She became hypnotized by the nature of their existence, at some point. Then she focused on the present, and made the most out of it by having the most fun. Then, she became desperate to rediscover who she once was. He loved her all the same.

One thing they truly differed in was their approach to human visitors. Perhaps because he was still apprehensive of them, the Forest Lord preferred to hide and turn away from them. But the Fae Queen liked to watch their antics, and in doing so she imitated them with her own behavior, knowingly or not.

There had always been corruption among humans. They saw humans of all kinds come and go through their domain, but at some point they started to display a change in their behavior. Righteousness. Violence. Forceful dominance. And though the Forest Lord had turned away from it, the Fae Queen would watch. She’d come to him in fear of what she had seen, and they would embrace and rest until the particular instance passed. But in their touch, the Forest Lord felt something else. A budding, morbid curiosity. Something he would later come to recognize as her desire for that high of power.

The change in her behavior, like all her changes, had been gradual. It took centuries for him to recognize the shift, and even with her tone turned derisive and her smiles turned contemptuous, he had considered it another of her phases and kept their domain singing.

But this one only became worse as she began to experiment with the extent of her power over him. Whenever they’d spend time together in physical form, she would delight in his discomfort; he couldn’t feel pain, but he could feel its ghost and she knew it. And when they’d spend time ethereal, her grip on him was tighter, so tight he was sometimes so numb he couldn’t feel it. And she always wanted more.

He’d tell himself, maybe if their domain was bright and welcoming, humans would be inspired and strive for goodness, and his love would follow. So he’d kept singing. Even as her grip strangled him, he sang. Even after the child’s brief visit had become motive of punishment from the Fae Queen, for showing himself to a human, he sang. Even as the excuses for punishment had become feeble and the rules for him became too many and for her too lax, he sang. He sang, until he witnessed the same strangling grip on a young human, by none other than her betrothed.

The Fae Queen had watched and forbidden the Forest Lord from interfering. The young woman, at first, didn’t struggle. In her eyes had been hope, and through her grip on the roots of the forest floor, the Forest Lord had known that hope was for her betrothed to change. But as life started to drain away, so did her hope. Hope became desperation.

The Forest Lord couldn’t bear it and called for a falcon, a bear, a wolf, anyone near— but the Fae Queen strengthened her grip on him until his singing voice was no more.

In the young woman, desperation became fear. By the time her limbs tried to pry her beloved’s hands away, she was already too weak. Even when her hands fell limp at her side, it took the man several minutes to pry himself off her neck and return to his settlement.

As the Fae Queen had left the scene in disdain—not for the humans, but for the weak—the Forest Lord had manifested from the tree whose roots the human had grasped in her dying moments. Flowers and smaller plants were usually the Fae Queen’s specialty, but he couldn’t help but envelop the human’s body in carnations. The least she deserved was a burial.

If he couldn’t sing, he would scream.

The Fae Queen had been livid when he confronted her, but he stood his ground. The conflict plunged their domain into chaos. Plants grew over each other, animals attacked their own. Not a songbird could be heard in the deafening silence of day and the uncertain murmurs of night.

But he had discovered that the life she gave him was no longer of her property, but his own. She held no power over him anymore, and though he knew nothing of this existence without her… he was willing to take the risk.

The divide between their individual domains was less physical than it was spiritual. They wouldn’t deal with each other unless in an emergency, and since they could still somehow feel each other’s presence, a disagreement was rare.

But although the Fae Queen was used to change, the Forest Lord missed his ability to sing.

Until a dancer taught him what he forgot.


	7. Foreigner's God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning this is the last complete chapter I have, the rest I'm still writing and the semester only gets heavier. so apologies in advance if I don't update next week!

_All that I’ve been taught and every word I’ve got is foreign to me._

 

The Forest Lord began to test the limits of his bindings by rolling his shoulders. As he thought, the strongest ties were not physical. “I don’t love you anymore, my Queen,” he said, his voice deep and strong like a tremor deep within the bowels of the Earth. “And you don’t love me either.”

He felt her disdain unleash on him through their touch. “What I propose doesn’t require love. When we become one, our love, or lack thereof, will not be a problem.”

“Don’t speak as if I’ve decided in your favor.”

The Fae Queen lifted herself off him and hovered at his back. “I gave you this life, my Lord,” she warned. “Consider it returning the favor.”

He clenched his fists, crumbling the dry mud around the joints. “You lost that right when you treated me like your inferior.”

He felt the Fae Queen pace away and around him, then she stood in front of him facing the edges of their domain. “Fine. Don’t do it for me.” She lifted a hand with a single finger sticking out, and a white butterfly came to perch on her. Slowly, she opened the rest of her fingers, and more butterflies came to perch on her hand. “But don’t you want to see this rotting world covered in our beauty?”

The Forest Lord loosened his hands ever so slightly, letting more dirt fall. “I might not remember much of my mortal life,” he began. “But I remember vivid landscapes. Deserts, jungles… tales of mountaintops and snow. And they all had their own blooming life. Our expansion would destroy that.”

“So? Let it,” she drawled, moving her hair behind her ear. “We’re much better anyways.”

That was enough. “You are ever-changing, my Queen, but enough is enough.” He stretched an arm to the side, breaking free of the stubborn vines. The Fae Queen stopped in her tracks. “You despise mortals, and yet you take the worst of their ideals to an extreme.” He used his free arm to rip off the vines off his other arm. “Your lust for power is out of control.” His hands grasped at the vines at his neck and tore them away. “Not the most wicked of humans can rival your delusion of superiority anymore.”

Finally, he tried to stand up. But the Fae Queen had other ideas.

She stomped towards him, and every step was a thick root shooting up from the ground to grab his legs, his waist, his shoulders and then his neck again. He tried to fight them with his own strength, but again, the strongest ties weren’t physical. The roots forced him back down on his knees, his face to the ground, locked in place by her reaches. He could only see her feet landing by his head.

“Do not mock me, my Lord,” she hissed. One of her feet lifted off the ground, landed softly atop his head, and pressed, pushing his face down on the dirt. “Humans, if we let them have their way, would be worse than what I propose.”

“Humans are not a whole,” he said between gritted teeth. Yes, he knew humans who hurt and killed, but he also knew humans who danced, who sang, who respected and loved each other and him. “They are as different to each other as you and I.”

The Fae Queen humphed a little laugh and put her foot back on the ground. The roots retracted into the soil, and the Forest Lord raised himself on his knees to see her walking away into the depths of their domain.

“I only leave you whole because I trust you will see the light soon,” she commented without so much of a turn of her head.

He found himself again and stood. “You will not change my mind.”

“Maybe I won’t,” she called back, continuing her stroll. “But I’m sure he will.” With those final words, she disappeared into the gloom of their domain.

The Forest Lord looked at the young cedar she had emerged from, still drowning in her flowers. He summoned roots and branches to take care of those, but they would either refuse to go anywhere near the vines or simply not answer to his calling.

He frowned and raised a hand to the twisting flowers, grabbing the thickest stem. He expected a wave of shared emotion, a surge of attempted control, but he felt nothing but pulsing life. The Fae Queen wasn’t here, but he couldn’t bring himself to rip the flowers off the cedar.

The Fae Queen was all he knew in this eternal life. When he split from her, it was like being born a third time. He was still finding himself— still figuring out who he was without her. He knew he was someone, he just didn’t know who or what.

An owl perched on a low-hanging branch of the cedar he was looking at. He hadn’t called it, but it still came. The owl didn’t pay him much heed, instead opting to groom. And then, it hooted; the first hint of song since the Fae Queen’s visit.

He still had some song left in him.


	8. Like Real People Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IM BACK sorry about that here's a long chapter enjoy

_I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you._

 

Serafim didn’t intend to sleep that night. He waited at the edge of camp, sitting cross-legged by the flower that a tree had dropped— that _Alder_ had dropped at his feet when he danced with his folks. He had a vague idea of what the woman of the forest was, but he couldn’t figure out what kind of control she had over Alder. She seemed more in control, at least on the surface. He hadn’t seen Alder manipulate the plants like that, but maybe it was similar to what he did with the animals…

He realized he was dozing off and opened his eyes, only to find Greta crouched in front of him with her arms folded over her knees, the early morning sun falling sideways across her soft features. He smiled at his daughter and opened his mouth to greet her, but she beat him to it. “Uncle Anghel told me you left the camp last night,” she said, deadpan.

Serafim pouted. “Good morning to you too,” he groaned.

She was unfazed. “I know you like these woods,” she began. “Especially around these parts. This is where the Alder Man is supposed to live, yes?”

Serafim’s chest filled with warmth. He held the memory of her eyes sparkling with wonder the first time he told her that story, in the form of a fairy tale, very close to his heart. “It is.”

“So don’t go into the forest and mess with him,” she said. “You don’t really know him.”

Serafim had to remind himself of how much he had told her, because it seemed to him that she was seeing right through him. “Aren’t you too old to take fairy tales literally?”

Greta narrowed her eyes. “Mami says it’s not just a fairy tale.”

Serfim smirked; his daughter could really be as cunning as her late mother. “Didn’t I always tell you _not_ to tell her you knew that story?”

She shrugged. “Not my fault you’ve always been a loud storyteller.” When her shoulders relaxed, she sat crosslegged on the ground in front of him and held his arm. “Dati, even if you knew him… If Uncle Anghel could see you, other people can. What if the men from yesterday see you? You promised you wouldn’t rile them up.”

“They won’t see me, I did promise you. I just…” He trailed off when something past her caught his eye. A snowy owl was perched on a tree by the edge of the forest, staring right at him. What was an owl doing at the edge of the woods at this time of the morning?

As if aware that it caught his eye, the owl flew into the woods and perched on a tree deeper inside, but not deep enough to be unseen. It turned its head and stared.

“I have to go,” Serfim said, staggering onto his feet. He started a brisk walk towards the owl. “I’ll be back for lunch, yeah?” he called back. “We need, uh, firewood.”

“We have enough firewood!” Greta called back.

“Then I’m bringing, uh, tea leaves! I’ll be back!”

He broke into a trot and the owl flew deeper into the woods, but now it didn’t have to stop so often. He didn’t have to run far; soon, the owl led him to the clearing where he and Alder had shared their dance and song, and the man of the forest himself stood facing away from him, in front of the tree the woman had suffocated.

Serafim slowed down to a pace and approached him. “Alder,” he said softly, so as to not startle him when he grabbed his shoulder.

Alder turned his head minimally, as if expecting the hand, and turned to face him. His stormy eyes were downcast and didn’t meet Serafim’s. “Who was that young woman? I apologize for interrupting.”

“Greta, my daughter.” Serafim let out a breathy chuckle. “I’ll see her later today. Tell me, how do you feel?”

Alder met his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to answer, closed it, then opened it again. “Have you not slept well?”

Serafim let out a patient breath and looked him over; his skin was cracked around his neck and arms, like dry earth or old bark. “I asked you something first, Alder.”

He didn’t recoil, thankfully. A deep hum came from within his throat, too deep to be fully human but not enough to be monstrous; it felt like the voice of the forest, condensed into a man. “I… am better now.”

Serafim trailed his hand up Alder’s arm, testing once again whether he would welcome touch. Since Alder turned to glance at his hand without moving away, Serafim brought his hand to rest upon the side of Alder’s neck, over the cracks. “Are these like bruises?”

Alder shrugged, a slow but graceful movement like the sway of a branch in wind. “I think so.” He paused, and silence settled. Serafim didn’t think it prudent to ask anything else, and left his hand there to provide a warmth that he hoped was comforting. But Alder spoke up softly. “I expected you to ask who she was.”

Serafim pursed his lips into a smile. “I’ll be honest, I’m curious. But you don’t have to tell me.” Alder furrowed his eyebrows at this, and Serafim nodded to reassure him. “We all have baggage, Alder. If you’re not ready to tell me, I can live with that and still be your friend.”

Alder bowed his head and fell quiet. Serafim became concerned. He was trying to be comforting, and maybe this wasn’t the right way to do it, it was just something he would want himself. Maybe it didn’t mean the same to Alder. He tried to meet his eyes again to apologize, but Alder then did something that rendered Serafim speechless.

In their previous touches—hands, arms, foreheads—Serafim had felt only the physical, nothing like the woman of the forest could do with her vines. He assumed it was because she had a different kind of power to Alder’s. But then, a sensation spread from the hand touching Alder’s neck, in the same way that the woman’s vines had caused but so much better.

It was warm. Not physically, but emotionally, spiritually. Through the touch, Serafim felt the extent of Alder’s affection towards him, and his breath hitched. Alder was never unable to transmit those emotions; he had been choosing not to, until now.

Alder met his eyes again, with an expression that seemed more vulnerable than resolute. “What I want with you is more than friendship, Serafim.” Was that the first time he’d said his name? “And if you have the same desire, you must know that part of me.”

The same desire… Serafim knew exactly what that meant. He knew there was a reason he had been drawn to this forest, something beyond a childhood encounter. But Alder seemed so broken, so full of cracks and things left unsaid. He didn’t want Alder to remain unsaid. “If I tell you first,” he started. “If I tell you what haunts me, will you be more at ease telling me what haunts you?”

Alder’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and as if grateful, he nodded.

Without breaking skin contact, Serafim trailed his hand down and hooked his fingers with Alder’s. He guided him away from the choked tree, to the other side of the small clearing, by an elder oak. Serafim intended to sit, but then Alder made the roots beneath his feet grow and raise him. Before he got too far up, he looked down, and Serafim saw the bark of the tree bend itself into rugged steps around its trunk. Never letting go of Alder’s hand —Serafim didn’t know if Alder could feel him in return, he just hoped it comforted him— he stepped up onto the tree and sat on a high branch.

Serafim laughed a little; he’d never been this high up on any tree, but his laughter died quickly. He hadn’t touched this part of his story in… perhaps years. “This happened when Greta was very young. She barely remembers, if she does at all,” he began. He felt Alder’s attentive look on him, his hand unmoving and reassuring. “I was married once. Her name was Elisabeta, she was a woman like no other. I know everyone thinks so of their partner, but that was how I felt. She carried herself and Greta with grace and pride, and she was smart, kind, friendly..." _Perhaps too friendly._

No, that had been the words of the people who tried to place the blame on her, for running her mouth, for not knowing her place.

Alder’s hand hadn’t moved. If anything, his grip was slightly tighter, so Serafim continued. “She was one of our healers, and liked to befriend the locals. She knew not to be very open about her skills in big cities, though.” He paused for a moment. He didn’t have the name of the city in mind all the time, but when he did remember, it took a toll. “Würzburg wasn’t going through the best of times. We knew that, we wanted to go around and just pass through, but it was getting late and we were low on supplies.

“We could still smell the burning, even from the outskirts. We all agreed on keeping quiet, and Elisabeta and some others went to town. Apparently, while she was there, she told one of the group that she thought the witch burnings there were atrocious.” It was then that Alder tensed; Serafim reckoned it was because he hadn’t been around humans enough to know what happened in Würzburg.

“Someone heard. They spied on her when she came back, discovered she was a healer. A Sinti woman who can tell poison ivy from tea leaves might as well be a witch to them, so they took her.”

Serafim clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around Alder’s. “It was barely a day’s wait until they sentenced her to death with a few others from the city. My father, odihnească-se în pace, had to drag me back to the carts and my mother had to take care of Greta.”

He took a deep breath, and to his surprise, he wasn’t crying. “The elders feared more deaths if we stayed, so we left. I could smell burning flesh, but never heard her screaming. I tell myself it was because she died before they burnt her body,” the knot in his throat threatened to take over, “but I’ll never be sure.”

Alder clutched his hand tighter and flooded him with sympathy. Serafim looked up at him, remembering why he was telling this. It served a purpose, but he had never told anyone about it in such length. All the people he was close to were there to witness the event, after all. There was a liberating quality to it, even if it happened nearly a decade ago.

“So that…” Serafim said in a breathy low voice. “That’s a bit of my story after I met you. That’s what you’re getting into.” He phrased it as a joke, but the smile he said it with was tense at best. “Thank you for _this_.” He punctuated the ‘this’ with a squeeze of his hand. “How are you?”

The feeling he got from Alder through their joined hands was not fear or apprehension. Alder felt safe now, and that was was brought a real, full smile to Serafim’s lips. Alder looked at him with determination, knowing he had found a home with Serafim. “Ready.”


	9. Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE LATENESS i actually had this written i just,,, forgot. ANYWAYS HERE IT IS

_Be like the rose that you hold in your hand, that will grow bold in barren and desolate land._

 

Sharing was different when it wasn’t with the Fae Queen. With her, he only had to feel for her to know. There were no limits to her potential empathy, but no way of hiding from her.

With Serafim, he chose to tell, and to show. The Forest Lord tried to regulate how much he shared through their touch, as he didn’t know if mortals could feel others’ emotions as first-hand as he could with others of his kind. He tried to keep most of it in his words.

He hadn’t used words in a long time, but with support of their shared touch, he felt he could convey his story accurately. Serafim’s reactions danced from grief to happiness, to horror and then grief again. By the time he finished recounting, Serafim’s grip on his hand would have been painful, had he been able to feel physical pain.

“I’m sorry for what you went through,” Serafim said, voice soft and eyes downcast. But when he looked up, the Forest Lord felt through their shared look what he couldn’t through their touch. There was no doubt that his intentions to cherish and love this dancer were shared, but there was something deeper than that. An understanding, a strong sense of support. A home.

“I would say it was a long time ago,” he said. He noticed his voice was less raspy now, more used to the sound of itself. “But time, to me, is a fickle thing.”

Serafim let out a breathy chuckle that made his curls bounce ever so slightly, gleaming in the morning sun. “No doubt.” He paused for a sigh, and turned back to the Forest Lord with a sweet smile. “Now, will you tell me how you feel?”

He took a moment to look inside of himself and found that his frustration and grief were but scars now, instead of open wounds. He had come a long way since he tried to hide his grief from himself. “Free,” he finally said. The smile all over Serafim’s eyes was the warmest he’d ever felt. “Home.”

“Home?” Serafim laughed, squeezing his hand. “How do you feel home?”

The Forest Lord found himself smiling back. “Warm. Safe.” He looked out at the canopies around them, bustling with life and song. “I once felt at home here. I haven’t, for a long time, but now,” he turned back to Serafim, leaning close to his face. “Now I feel at home with you.”

The tips of their noses touched. The contact made him stay still, not wanting to push Serafim into anything he didn’t want to do. But their connected hands and the smile on the mortal’s lips gave him courage. They both leaned forward and their lips met, warm and welcoming.

The Forest Lord felt Serafim exhale against him. Was it shock, relief, happiness? For he felt all of that and more, and he hoped their touch told him that. He felt Serafim’s hands trail up his arms and drape over his shoulders, and he built up courage to place a hand on his hip.

He hadn’t done this in a long time, but Serafim’s lips moved like his body danced. Skill and passion blended with his slow rhythm, tender and caring. The Forest Lord sighed happily, and slid the hand on Serafim’s hip towards his middle back. He felt him smile and tighten his arms, hugging his head. He hoped Serafim could feel the heaven he was in.

When they parted for air, Serafim leaned their foreheads together and just breathed for a moment. The Forest Lord was in awe of the grace of his heaving chest, his glistening lips, his smiling eyes, and Serafim chuckled. “Well, now you know what you’re getting into. Are you sure?” He asked, but his tone was lighthearted.

The Forest Lord smiled and gingerly pressed their foreheads. “Are you? It is as you said: we all have baggage.” He tried to reflect Serafim’s trusting tone, but maybe it wasn’t the tone that made Serafim lean into his arms. Maybe it was the love he was letting flood into him through their touch.

“We do,” Serafim said, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “But it’s better to travel together than alone.”

Every word he said made the Forest Lord’s chest tighten with warmth. His arms wrapped tightly around Serafim’s back, but with care not to suffocate him. The wind shuffled the leaves around them like a round of applause, as if they had been waiting for their union. And it was union that the Forest Lord desired, on every level of their existence.

But a distant scream broke the air.

Like lightning, Serafim raised his head in the direction of the sound. “Greta,” he whispered, and scrambled down from their branch.

In shock, the Forest Lord tried to aid his descent with oaken steps, which Serafim jumped down on with none of the grace that accompanied his usual walk: just urgency.

The Forest Lord believed it quicker to melt into the trunk and emerge below to assist Serafim. As if the confusion was visible on his face, Serafim hurriedly explained as he reached the ground. “She never raises her voice, she never— She must be in trouble!”

As he turned and ran towards the noise, Alder called after him. “I can help.”

“No!” Serafim stopped in his tracks and turned around to face him. The fear in his face, Alder understood, was not just for his daughter. “Hide. Don’t let anyone see you, I don’t want you to get in trouble too.”

As the Forest Lord was about to reply, another scream rang out, and Serafim bolted back towards his camp crying out his daughter’s name. The sharp shadows swallowed the sound, and eventually they swallowed him too.


	10. NFWMB

_If I was born a blackthorn tree, I’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies._

 

When the shock wore off after a moment, the Forest Lord sent summons for a flying sentinel. A falcon came to his aid, but when he said the location, it flew back into the depths of the woods. It was odd, and it made him concerned, so he went into the oak intending to emerge from a tree closer to the camp. But while in his realm, surrounded only by the forest’s collective mind, Serafim’s words came back to him. _I don’t want you to get in trouble too._

It was true; the extent of his power wasn’t what it once was. He had never confronted humans before Serafim, he didn’t know how much they could do to him. And Serafim was already well-acquainted with the cruelty that masses of humans can bring; he didn’t want to cause him that pain again.

And so he waited. His domain settled into an unsteady silence, and though he tried not to concern himself with mortal affairs, he could never cease to wonder about Serafim’s immediate fate.

Time slipped his mind, but when the sun began to fall, a set of footsteps hurried into his realm. They did not belong to Serafim, but neither did they belong to the usual lumberjacks and hunters. They held a desperate grace similar to Serafim’s. The falcon from before agreed to watch the visitor for him, and he discovered it was the young woman he had seen chatting with Serafim before. He said her name was Greta.

Greta arrived at the clearing and looked around desperately, her movements jerky and hesitant, as if unsure what to expect. She turned to the drowned cedar and ran to stand in front of it. The falcon perched on its branches so he could look at her better: her dress, the same one from this morning was torn at a sleeve and full of dirt. There was a bruise on her cheekbone and dirt stains on a side of her face.

When she spoke, her voice was full of fear. “Alder Man, we need your help!”

That was the name Serafim had first given him, the one he said he’d called him until now, when they shortened it to just ‘Alder’. Curiosity settled in his gut, but so did dread.

Upon receiving no response she could perceive, she kept speaking, an audible knot invading her throat. “Please, Alder Man! The bishop and the city are against us, you’re the only one left! We’ve tried to appeal, to get him out, but they threaten us with the same fate!”

The same fate? The Forest Lord felt his instinct rise to fear. He quietly emerged from another tree behind her —not the cursed, drowned cedar— and spoke softly so as to not alarm her. “What happened to Serafim?”

She still jumped as she turned to face him. If she was shocked at his appearance, she didn’t show it for more than a second. “He was seen with you this morning,” she said. “They— used me to lure him back, and it worked. They refused a trial.” She clenched her jaw. “If we don’t find a way to help him, he’ll be executed at sundown.”

In the centuries he had united with his realm, the Forest Lord’s mind had never gone blank. Silent, calm, maybe, but never blank. Not until now. And it was in that void that he felt, pointedly, the creeping presence of the Fae Queen.

She whispered her way to them even before she heaved from the drowned cedar, startling the young woman. Greta took a step back as if seeking protection from the Forest Lord, and he stood his ground as the Fae Queen’s steps made the ground blossom. “Have you thought about my proposal, my Lord?” she said in the language of the forest.

“Why now, my Queen?” he said, voice shaking, though he knew the answer. She knew to strike when he was at his weakest.

“We are forces greater than a mortal dancer and his daughter,” she said, lips curling into a smile nothing short of sadistic.

“Spare him,” he said, and looked to the side, towards Greta. He extended an arm in front of her, like he was protecting her. It was what Serafim would want. “Spare him, and his family.”

The Fae Queen’s lips twitched and he felt her patience waver. “If you join me, we can spare them,” she drawled. “For now.”

It was his best chance. He nodded, feeling like he was uttering his own demise. “For now.”

The Fae Queen laughed, and as she did, she strode towards him. He didn’t move, and when she arrived in front of him she didn’t stop. Not until she walked into him and they melted into each other. The winds whirled leaves around them in their union, and what emerged was neither him nor her. Now, they were Them.

They turned towards the young woman, who had taken a few steps back in prudent fear. With all the voices of the forest yet a language she could understand, They said, “Lead the way.”


	11. Arsonist's Lullabye

_My peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake._

 

When Serafim had reached his home, townsfolk had been holding back his people in a half-circle at the edge of camp. In the middle had been Greta on the ground, her arms behind her back, her face forced into the dirt by one of the lumberjacks he had encountered the past morning: the brunette, Zimmer. But just as he’d been about to charge, a steel-hard arm had shot out from behind a tree and knocked him down at the edge of camp. Then two men had seized him and dragged him onto his feet, and two more stepped in front of him; a bishop, and the one-eyed lumberjack that had introduced himself as Hans Köhler.

Serafim had stopped struggling when he saw Zimmer stand up and leave Greta aside, but when some townsfolk pushed her back to her grandmother at the sidelines, both women had looked at him with horror. It had been a trap. Then a burlap sack covered his head and he was dragged away.

He didn’t struggle —it was either him or his family— but the next few hours he spent in fear and pain as they questioned him in the heart of the city. At first he didn’t plan to come clean, for fear that they’d interpret it as his whole family being involved, but by noon he was pleading guilty if only to make it stop.

They bound his aching wrists in front of him, shoulders still slack and fingers still broken, and dragged him to the town square.

“Will you do the honors, Herr Köhler?” he heard the bishop say with contempt.

The lumberjack cast a shadow over Serafim’s bowed and broken figure. “My axe could be cursed by his warlock blood,” he sentenced. “Let him burn.”

Instead of walking on charred cobblestone, his bare feet lumbered over firewood. His laconic mind perceived only pain when the bishop tied his wrists high on a post, sharpening the ache in his shoulders. Straw scratched at his feet as they piled it around him, and though his conscience blurred now and then —he couldn’t tell if it happened because he willed it so or not—, he caught fragments of his surroundings. The bishop reciting bible passages. A small crowd gathering. A beautiful sunset that reminded him of the fiery glow over the center of Würzburg as he was dragged away from it, from his burning Elisabeta.

His eyes fell closed for a second, and when he opened them again there was a lit torch in the bishop’s hand. Flanked by the lumberjacks, he turned to face Serafim. “Do you repent?”

Although Serafim knew in his heart there was nothing to repent for, he knew better than to hope for freedom. “Yes,” he croaked, throat dry and aching. “I repent.”

He heard a distant, choked sob. Far behind the crowds, he glimpsed the unmistakeable figure of his mother, face in hands, being dragged away by her fellow elders. He didn’t see his daughter, but he hoped she didn’t see either.

The bishop nodded and crossed the air in front of him with his free hand. “May the Lord forgive you,” he said, and lowered the torch.

Serafim let out what would’ve been his last breath of fresh air.

A sudden gust of wind whipped the city, so harshly it rocked the pole, blew away the straw, and extinguished the torch. Serafim heard clattering window panes, slamming doors, wild winds roaring past his ears. He looked back towards his camp, and saw… Them.

They looked like Alder, but They also looked like the woman of the forest. Their elongated limbs blossomed from a shifting body of lilac and white petals, faded into tender stem, and hardened into darkened bark at the last half. Their face was shrouded by what seemed like Alder’s mossy hair, but longer, silky like tree vines, but from between the strands glowed eyes yellow like nectar. And They were at least ten feet tall.

Although They were slender, every step They took boomed throughout the city and made the stone ground crack and blossom with thick tree roots and slithering vines. The crowd fled, the bishop shielded himself behind the lumberjacks and some other men, hunters mostly, and Serafim could only watch in horror.

The vines sped above the cobblestone and caught the first man like a net. He broke free of a few, but then the slower but thicker roots cracked open the rocks beneath him and grabbed him, forcing him into a ball barely above ground.

Seeing this, the other men grabbed their weapons —axes, knives, firearms— in preparation. As They approached, the hunters shot at Them and the lumberjacks chopped at any approaching vines or roots. But the bullets got caught in thick bark and the dry wounds immediately covered by the ever-growing plants that made Them; the roots and vines immediately grew back, and more vines grew to replace those cut down. One by one they were caught until three were left: Zimmer, Köhler, and the bishop behind them.

What used to be Alder towered over the men and paused, looking down upon them. Zimmer didn’t wait for an order and charged at Them with his axe, but before he could even reach Them, They stomped with one foot and a tower of roots and vines caught the lumberjack and shot upwards, dangling him from one foot dangerously high off the ground.

Seeing his friend so easily reduced, Köhler dropped the weapon and spread his arms in front of the bishop. “Devil! You cannot stop God’s will!” He turned to the bishop and made a gesture with his head.

The bishop scrambled back towards Serafim and desperately tried to light the torch, but They stomped again. This time, roots broke through the cobblestone and seized them both, yanked their arms behind their backs, and forced them to face Them on their knees.

Serafim tried to find some of the Alder he knew in those solid yellow eyes, but they were foggy at best. “Alder…” he breathed, and though he didn’t particularly raise his voice over the wind, They looked up a fraction. With a nod, a root slithered up the pole, forced itself between it and the thick rope binding Serafim, and broke it.

Serafim’s hands fell back in front of him, but They were far from done. He couldn’t tell a single emotion but contempt from Their face as they looked down on the captive men, raised their hand, and slowly formed a fist.

As Their hand closed, Serafim heard panicked cries of pain from the hunters forced into a bundle by the roots, increasingly distant calls for help from Zimmer higher up every time, and choking sounds from the bishop and Köhler. He saw growing roots and vines enclosing them all, suffocating them, crushing them.

Much like Alder by his past lover.

Serafim made a split-second decision. “ _Wait!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is short so i'm posting it on sunday probably, and then back to our regular schedule!


	12. Be (reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE,,,, I KNOW I PROMISED THIS CHAPTER A WEEK AGO AND IM SORRY FOR SHORTNESS, I'LL POST THE NEXT AS SOON AS THEY'RE DONE SORRY ILU

_Love, won’t you be as you’ve always been?_

Serafim knew his cry had affected Alder because, although They made no move, the roots stopped growing and the air went still. Serafim sighed, but it wasn’t over yet. It hurt to walk, but he took one painful step after another towards the one he loved. Like with the oak tree this very morning, They made steps grow under Serafim’s feet, so he could arrive face to face.

He slipped a hand out of the loosened knots around his wrists and raised it towards Their face. He waited, in case They didn’t want to share, but They didn’t move and so he placed his hand on Their jaw.

Serafim almost stumbled backwards from the surge of emotion, stronger than anything he’d felt through this means before, but he stood his ground. If not for the captive men, for Alder. There were so many conflicting emotions in Them —shame and pride, regret and ambition— he could tell They weren’t just Alder. He had merged in some way with the woman of the forest; the Fae Queen, he learned through touch. But after a few seconds passed, he could distill his feelings from hers. Love, desperation, a deep desire to protect.

Serafim hoped Alder could feel him. He understood his protectiveness, but a massacre, although not uncalled for, would do them no favors. He just wanted a safe way out of this for Alder, for Greta, for the clan, and if possible for himself. Harming others would only gain them scorn, and he knew Alder understood that.

But the Fae Queen pushed back with anger, with an ambition too great to be contained by a single being. Every weakness he had, every regret he held, she seeped into it like weeds. Serafim witnessed this happen and did something out of instinct; with both aching, bruised hands, he held Their face.

The waves of emotion doubled, but so did Their awareness of him. He felt Alder grow stronger and push back against the Fae Queen, not physically but much stronger. She was still powerful, as much as him, if not more so.

Serafim took a shaking breath and leaned his forehead against Theirs, like he and Alder had done less than a day ago.

And that was when Alder came alive.


	13. Would That I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised,,.... but it's also a lil short dont kill me ilu

_With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet like the ashes of ash, I saw rise in the heat._

 

The Forest Lord was used to being either an ethereal form or a physical body, but he had never felt both at the same time. The level of intimacy to which he was merged with the Fae Queen was nearly absolute, but if he concentrated, he could distill their consciousness from each other like oil and water. And Serafim’s touch grounded him.

It was the dancer’s hands and forehead that he anchored himself to. Those points of shared emotions, so clearly separated yet permeable beings, those were the points where he could concentrate. He was sure the points of contact were heating up with energy like they never had in this life, and the Fae Queen felt it too.

 _What are you doing?_ he felt her hiss, clinging to every inch of his consciousness. _Don’t you want to save him? Don’t you want to take revenge?_

The Forest Lord heaved against her, and though his physical form remained shakily still, he knew Serafim could feel the storm inside Them. He screamed, she screamed back, and together They roared; an otherworldly rumble that no doubt made everyone shrink in fear. Everyone but Serafim, firmly present.

He felt Their body begin to crumble as his mind fought for freedom, peeling off her persistent grip. But no matter how much he pulled away, he couldn’t separate.

 _It’s too late, my Lord!_ she yelled into his mind. _I gave you this life! If you leave Us, I can take it away!_ But behind the threat, there was fear.

 _You tried once._ Their hands began to claw away at Their body in conflict.

She became desperate. In their state of shared consciousness, he discovered without surprise that her ambition for an empire was merely a projection of her own desire for power she had once lacked, a desire she exercised over him. And though she tried to hide that ghost of a memory, he clung to it firmly until she could no longer ignore or excuse it. Maybe then she could realize her own corruption.

It seemed her changing nature was on his side this time. Her consciousness no longer clung to his, but stuck like sap. She showed him her fear without restraint now. _Neither of us will make it._

 _Perhaps,_ he groaned, beginning to feel the pain of Their disintegration. Serafim, in front of Them, gasped in shared pain, and so They stepped back and away from his touch. His eyes widened in shock and concern, but the Forest Lord could handle it from now on. _Maybe, if I sacrifice something…_

The Fae Queen went strangely quiet. _You’ll disappear._

 _You don’t know that, my Queen,_ he told her, serene.

_You don’t know that either!_

He braced himself for separating not only from her, but from himself. _If it’s the cost of his peace,_ he told her, lifting Their gaze to Serafim’s worried and worn out features. He made Them step back and lifted Their arm with an open palm, trying to signal to him his potential final intentions. _I’m willing to try._

He took the Fae Queen’s silence as a non-objection, and the agony of disintegration had Them groaning like a creaking branch.

But it didn’t last long. The pain became flower petals, and then nothing.


	14. Shrike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE CHAPTER LEFT!!! ARE YALL READY. CUZ IM NOT

_Remember me, love, when I'm reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn._

 

Serafim felt his earthen platform descend before he could process what happened. Around him, the roots that entangled so many men slowly retracted into the ground, freeing every last one of them. The creature’s body let out a final groan and erupted into flower petals that floated in the air as if in constant breeze, like a cloud of thick mist that let nothing see through. But that was what he could see.

Maybe it was the sudden shift of feeling three beings at once to feeling only himself, but he felt numb. The physical pain from his injuries was there but in the back of his mind. The last thing he felt was Their pain, Their risk, and then nothing. Had… Had Alder sacrificed himself and the Fae Queen to spare the humans?

By the time he felt more present, the cloud had enveloped the town square. He could see nothing beyond the petals, but he felt their gentle brush against him, and something more. Not quite like the linking of minds he experienced with Alder and with Them, but not a wholly internal feeling either. It was an emotion in the air like the scent of lilies, free to touch and free to feel.

An apology. As if time had slipped away, or been taken away, or been wasted. So much lost, so much that could’ve been. Serafim was familiar with this sensation in its abstract form, having felt it when he lost his Elisabeta. It was so personal to him, it took him a while to realize it was the Fae Queen’s apology.

Then, a promise. Not a return, not a threat, just a promise of change. But not just change— of rebirth.

And finally, release.

The petals parted into a path from Serafim to the edge of town, where Greta stood, awaiting. Between them, on the ground, a prone, naked figure.

Alder.

Serafim limped to him, sensing the flower curtain follow him close, and knelt. Alder’s skin was still as dark, but no longer made of bark or earth. His hair was no longer mossy, but thin strands of tightly-locked black hair. Aside from some grime, there were no injuries on him, and most importantly, he was warm to the touch. Alder was human, and Alder was _alive_.

Suddenly aware of the reincorporated townsmen, blind behind the flower petals but still trying to find the culprits of their injuries, Serafim hooked one of Alder’s arms around him and did his best to drag him to the edge of town. As the flower curtain closed in behind them, a pair of light steps hurried close and draped a blanket over Alder. Serafim was not surprised to look up to his daughter, hooking the blanket over Alder’s shoulders. She met his eyes in silence and got under Alder’s other arm to finish carrying him.

When they arrived to the camp, there wasn’t much left of it. Everyone was running around packing the last of their belongings, avoiding Serafim’s eyes. He wasn’t surprised, it was to be expected that the clan would leave to save the majority. What he didn’t expect was his cart to be ready, yet set aside with no one in it.

His mother hurried out from behind it with puffy eyes like he’d never seen. She grabbed his face and kissed both of his cheeks, then hugged him so tight it sweetly brought back the pain of his wounds. But the embrace stopped quickly when she held him by the shoulders. “You have to go.”

Serafim expected that, but glanced at the cart to convey his confusion. He didn’t trust his mouth when he was still dazed.

Teodora pursed her lips. “The elders decided it. I can leave you our cart, for you and your—” she glanced at the unconscious Alder, “—friend. Your belongings are inside, Greta and I will go with Anghel.”

He took his daughter’s disconcert as the chance to hoist Alder up on the back of the cart, and made sure he was well as he heard Greta and his mother argue. It hurt him to leave his family, but it was the best for them. He was the branded one, and he would take responsibility for it, as much as it brought a knot to his throat.

Once Alder was safe, Serafim turned to face the inevitable goodbye. Greta threw herself into his arms as soon as he did, and muttered into his shoulder. “Tell her. Tell Mami I’m going with you.” She looked up, and her brows furrowed in anger when she found in his face an answer she didn’t like.

Serafim took a shaking breath to try to keep the tears at bay, but still felt them crawl down from the corner of his eyes. “It’s for the best,” he said.

“Listen to your father, child.” Teodora tried to speak with authority, but her own shaking voice betrayed her true feelings.

Greta hugged Serafim even tighter, and even though it made Serafim’s joints and ribs ache, he leaned into it. He gave her a kiss atop the head. “I love you, Greta. Too much to put you at risk.”

Teodora then came forward to pull Greta off her father, but she put up no fight and kept her eyes downcast. Teodora then held Serafim’s neck and pulled him down to give him a similar kiss atop the head. She looked at him in the eye for a somber moment, and then patted his cheek. “Go now, run. Live.”

Serafim nodded. He made sure one more time that Alder was safe and rounded the cart. The family mule, Noémie, seemed blissfully ignorant to the situation; he gave her a pat, sat in front of the cart, and took the reins.

The clan was setting out further west; Serafim would take Alder southeast, towards the Alps. “And take care of your injuries when you’re safe, boy,” his mother’s voice came from behind as she walked away. He looked down at his hands. At least three fingers needed splints, but he could lead Noémie for a couple of miles. He was too exhausted to feel anything but numbness at this point, anyways.

With one last glance towards the clan he used to be part of, he set off.


	15. No Plan

_My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand; it’s how I know now that you understand._

 

Sleep was hard to catch when he was more than a mortal, but though he missed it, he never felt like he needed it. Only until he woke up wrapped in a warm blanket that smelled like home, feeling so light and at the same time so grounded, did he realize how much he needed it.

But it wasn’t the warmth that woke him up. No, if he could only feel this warmth he would sleep for centuries. It was Serafim’s voice.

His eyes cracked open to a dim wooden interior packed with pillows, blankets, a curtain on one side, and some sacks on the other. Belongings, maybe? What kind of things did people take with them nowadays, he wondered? The place seemed small and cluttered, but he could lay down in it alright if he kept his knees bent.

 _Knees_. He shifted under the blanket and felt his own bones and muscles work together to move his body. Still dazed, he brought a hand out from under the blankets and brought it close to his face. It looked different to what he was used to, but he curled and stretched his fingers and realized that, more than ever, it was his.

He was mortal. He was _human_.

The voice that woke him up came from the other side of the curtain, and it was accompanied with someone else’s. It was Serafim’s daughter, calmly arguing with her exalted father.

“You’re not safe with us!”

“You’ll have to try harder than that to convince me of abandoning you.”

“Greta, go back with your grandmother this moment!”

“Alone, at night? What was it you said about safety?”

“Now is not the time for your sass!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time for it as we travel.”

“We’re not—!”

Alder nudged open the curtain as Serafim’s argument was reduced to vague groans of frustration. He had his back to him, and his daughter stood firmly before him. She noticed him first, and upon seeing her glance, Serafim turned around. His features turned to wonder and worry despite the bruises and flaky blood. “Alder, you’re…!” He limped closer to him and knelt with a small grimace, then folded his arms on the sill and made Alder realize he was in his cart. “How are you?”

Alder found his voice, and it didn’t sound like many creatures in symphony— it just sounded his. “I’m… human.”

Serafim let out a breathy laugh, and Greta came closer. “He’s alright. He hasn’t got a scratch on him, just needs a bath and some clothes. You, on the other hand…” She grabbed Serafim’s chin and turned him towards her, and he winced. “You need to pay more attention to yourself. Mami said to take care of your wounds when you’re safe, and you were already safe six hours ago!”

She had a point. Serafim looked a lot more beaten up than what Alder had perceived in his combined form. Alder gave him a stern look, and Serafim smiled sheepishly.

“Your fingers aren’t even splinted, how have you been leading Noémie? You need to sleep, I’ll steer, get in there with the Alder Man and get patched up.”

“His name is—” Serafim hesitated and turned to him. “What would you like us to call you now?”

It didn’t surprise Alder how easily the answer came to him. “I like Alder.”

Serafim smiled, but Greta urged him on. “Go on then, go with Alder. You know I’m not going back.”

The look that Serafim gave his daughter warmed Alder’s heart. He hoped it was one of many more heartwarming moments to come.

With difficulty, Serafim climbed into the cart and settled beside Alder, who shifted to one side to give him space. When the cart started moving again, Serafim dug into one of the sacks of belongings, but winced with every move of his hands. Alder saw that and gently took the sack from him. “Don’t force yourself. What do I look for?”

Serafim pursed his lips. “Bandages. There might also be a jar with salve, I took some sticks from the road to use as splints.” He took out said sticks from a pocket and paused, as if in thought. “Greta snuck in here while I drove overnight,” he explained, though absently. Alder took out the items he requested, but frowned at his pensive look. Serafim looked up at him. “What happened back there?”

Alder was expecting the question, but he wasn’t expecting, out of all the emotions he could feel, embarrassment. “I… fused with the Fae Queen,” he admitted, eyes downcast. “Greta came to ask for help. The Fae Queen bargained.” He paused. “I couldn’t let you die like that.”

Alder felt Serafim’s hand brush against his own, sliding up to his arm soft and firm. “Thank you.” Serafim sounded bravely on the verge of tears. “I… sort of pieced that together. But at the end? How are you… human again?”

It was something Alder should have given a lot of thought to, but hadn’t, considering he woke up mere minutes ago. He tried to piece together his train of thought from that moment. “She was always a part of me,” he began. “She had given me a piece of her existence so it became mine.” He tried to put the ethereal sensation into human words. “Creating —uniting— is easy. Destroying —separating— is not so. I had to give something up, or They would destroy all of us.” Alder sighed, processing what had happened as he spoke of it. “I gave up eternity.”

Serafim’s hand on his arm trembled with emotion. “How did you know you’d be alright?”

“I didn’t,” Alder said, in all honesty. “I just wanted _you_ to be alright.”

He heard Serafim huff and looked up. He had a conflicted look on his face, like he didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “Alder. Thank you, I mean it. But,” Serafim took a deep breath, as if the words took a lot of effort to say. “You’re mortal now, right? So don’t go around sacrificing yourself for people like that anymore, alright?”

Alder held his look for a moment. Serafim, bloody and bruised, was telling him off. Alder did something he didn’t remember doing in his existence: he laughed.

Serafim seemed as surprised as Alder, and laughed as well. Neither were used to the sound of the former immortal’s laughter, but it was welcome.

They came to lean their foreheads together as their laughter simmered down. The contact could no longer share raw emotion, but Alder realized he didn’t need that to still sense the general mood. He sighed happily and kissed him.

Serafim made a small sound of pleasant surprise and kissed him back. It wasn’t like when they sat on the oak tree; it was brief, playful. This time they weren’t hiding.

Alder separated and gestured with his head towards the bandages. Serafim rolled his eyes and began to work on himself as Alder leaned back. “Where to?” he asked, feeling easygoing for once.

“Southeast,” Serafim said as he worked. “The Alps, I think. Ever been there?”

“Not that I remember,” Alder said, intrigued. “You?”

“Once.” Alder finished up splinting his right hand fingers and switched to his left. “Lovely place. Not that safe with a big crew, though. Hopefully it’ll be better with just the three of us.”

Alder suddenly realized what that implied; Serafim had left his people. That was what the argument with his daughter was all about. “I’m sorry.” He had caused Serafim to leave those he loved the most.

Serafim frowned. “Not your fault. Nobody could’ve predicted it.”

“Won’t you miss them?” Alder asked; he knew how loneliness felt.

“Yes,” Serafim admitted. “But I’m also not alone.” His wide eyes were so full of hope and wonder, it was hard to believe he had been subjected to arduous torture just a day ago. Then again, it was probably also hard to believe Alder was an immortal Lord of the Forest until a few hours ago. The two of them had changed so much, not just with each other but between meetings, it seemed like they were destined for each other. Now aware of the things that live outside of mortality, Alder often genuinely wondered if there was such a thing as fate.

But there was something playful in those eyes that made him not care. After all, it brought them together. And maybe Alder didn’t want to know what fate brought; he wanted, with Serafim by his side, to find out for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT... IS...... FINISHED........... i'd like to thank the academy,,,,
> 
> but no joke, thank you for reading. I can't believe I finished this somewhat on schedule. thank you guys for reading!! comments, kudos, shares, i live for all of them but i live more for readers. anyways stay tuned for an illustrated version!!! i'll post updates on my twitter @r_m_writes and also come chat, i love chatting. anyways THANK YOU!!!!


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